


I Held Your Name Inside My Mouth

by softmorts (orphan_account)



Category: McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, M/M, Praise Kink, i guess, just a bit tho but it's still there, pat is also a crafty little shit, pat's got his back tho, poolgames inc V2.0, poor nickolus is a bit of an anxious wreck, vaguely?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 05:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/softmorts
Summary: “Pat?”“Yeah?” Pat’s voice is unbearably soft now, gentle, as though he might break something, this, whatever this is, by speaking too loud.“Can – can I kiss you?”





	I Held Your Name Inside My Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: pat and allegra literally started streaming as I posted this. bad timing, my dude. real bad timing.
> 
> also, this is the first time I've written in like two years, and probably the last time I'll write in ages cause I'm not good at motivating myself to do it, so if anything's shit, it's probably because of that.
> 
> EDIT: title is from "animal life" by shearwater. it's a real good song, go listen to it!

    Getting in the pool had been a terrible idea. Nick knows this now, trying his damnedest not to let his eyes wander to below the water on his left-hand side. Whose idea was this again, he wondered. Oh yeah. Partially his.

    And now he’s sitting in a hot tub at something past midnight recording a video episode for the podcast he does with his best friend and trying not to stare at his co-worker’s crotch. Jesus.

    Nick wonders how this became his life.

    He’s trying to be subtle – failing, probably, but at least no-one can say he never tried – in taking brief glances at Pat. God, he might as well not be wearing anything on his lower half. It’s like he’s doing this deliberately. The occasional featherlight touches from Pat’s leg against his own aren’t helping matters either. Nick hopes he can cool off before they have to get out because Jesus, he thinks he’d die if he had to explain the situation in his pants.

    All too soon, or not soon enough, Nick can’t decide, Pat’s time is up and he’s standing up to get out and taking a towel to save Clayton from having to blur him out later. Griffin, either because he’s got a terrible sense of timing, or (and this is the most likely option of the two, Nick decides) because he can in fact read Nick’s mind and wants to torture him further, yells, “SPEAKIN’ OF CREAMERS!”, and Nick laughs, pointing at Pat’s ass if only to attempt to claw back some of his dignity by pretending that he isn’t furiously and inexplicably turned on.

    Nick drops his hand and allows himself a second to appreciate the view; apparently, it was a second too long and Pat noticed him staring, because the second he’s out of sight of the camera Pat is giving him a wink and a sly grin, and it’s all Nick can do to maintain his composure.

    The rest of the video goes by in a blur, and Nick is taking a moment to brace himself for the inevitable horror of soggy clothes when he’s interrupted by wet footsteps and suddenly Simone and Pat are drumming on him and fuck it, he thinks, video can’t get any weirder, and joins in.

***

    Nick’s in the bathroom, hunting down a few more towels, when Pat wanders in, making a beeline for the toilet. He pauses, and turns, face changing only minutely to what could be described as a vaguely surprised expression.

    “Oh, hey Nick,” Pat says, turning back to the toilet and dropping his towel. Nick makes a valiant effort to keep his mouth somewhere near closed while he has a second-long short circuit in his brain.

    “I- uh, I was just getting some towels, I’ll be out of your hair…” Nick trails off, because really, what do you say to your co-worker slash friend who’s basically just whipped their dick out in front of you. He hears Pat snort as Nick frantically avoids all eye contact.

    “Why would you need to leave?” Pat turns his head to look at him, grins. “We’re just guys being dudes.”

    “Two guys in a bathroom standing five feet apart cause they’re not gay?” Nick suggests, his voice going up on the last word and god he hopes Pat didn’t notice how it cracked-

    “If that’s how you wanna put it.” Pat’s voice is level; Nick doesn’t know how to feel. He’s still clutching the towels like they’ll save him from this. “Personally,” Pat says, flushing the toilet and moving towards the sink, “I’m not a huge fan of labels. But hey, whatever floats your boat, man.”

    “Uh, no. I mean. Me neither,” Nick stutters, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. He watches Pat dry his hands.

    “Goodnight, Nicolas,” Pat says, giving him a faint grin and a friendly pat on the shoulder as he walks out of the bathroom and makes his way to their shared room.

    Nick thinks he might die.

***

    It’s late the next evening, and what had been a competitive game of Mario Kart between almost everyone in the house is now just Nick, Pat, and Simone furiously battling it out on yet another Rainbow Road course, because Pat apparently somehow sold his soul to the devil and is almost perfect at it.

    “Shit!” Simone hisses as she barrels off the edge at a tight corner, just as Pat crosses the finish line. He grins at her and she snorts, narrowing her eyes at the clock on her DS. “Well, I’m exhausted, I’m going to bed. Have fun!” With that, she snaps her DS shut and waves goodnight, Nick chirping out a “Night!” and Pat saluting wordlessly.

    They continue to race in comfortable silence; they get through a couple more rounds of Mario Kart before Pat shifts, suddenly, from his position on the other end of the couch – he grunts as he turns himself around, drapes his legs over the arm on his side, and plops his head in Nick’s lap.

    Nick blinks.

    “Another round?” Pat asks. Nick, baffled by this, simply nods and stumbles over a simple “uh, sure”. Pat hums an acknowledgement and scans the levels, furrowing his brow as he makes his decision. Nick stares, watching him, watching the way his tongue pokes out, ever so slightly, before swiping over his bottom lip and retreating back into his mouth.

    Nick wishes it was his tongue, and then he starts, realising exactly what his problem the past two days has been. Oh Jesus. Oh, he’s fucked. It’s suddenly occurred to him just how bad an idea it was to allow Pat to lean on him like this; if he gets worked up he’s done for.

    “Dude.” Pat’s voice breaks him out of his train of thought, and as he looks at his screen he realises the race has started already, the CPU karts and Pat already far ahead of him. He laughs nervously, and presses the acceleration button.

    “Uh, sorry about that, I zoned out I guess?” His lame excuse is accepted by Pat, who nods slightly, and god, even the slight friction on his crotch is hellish. He spends the race in the last three places, unable to focus properly due partly to Pat’s little grunts and noises that he keeps making, and also to the fact that he keeps fucking shifting, which is not helping Nick’s situation in the slightest.

    It’s only heightened when, on the last race of a good win streak, Pat’s finger slips and he shoots off the course into the lava below, dropping to seventh place as he’s set back on the track, knowing already that victory is pointless. He lets out a groan that makes Nick’s dick twitch in his pants, and, to his credit, tries valiantly to win back his victory – but it’s pointless. The race ends, and as Pat falls down the rankings he moans in defeat and twists, burying his face into Nick’s hip, and Jesus fucking Christ how is he supposed to keep calm—

    “Fuck,” Nick hisses, involuntarily, and then freezes.

    Shit.

    Pat stops, lifts himself up a bit, looks at Nick, who’s just staring ahead now, wide-eyed and convinced that Pat’s going to – walk out, or react with disgust, or something, and—

    “Nick?” Pat’s voice is soft now, a concerned undertone completely taking over the frustration that was there just moments ago. Nick tears his eyes away from the unfocused position they were in to look at Pat, whose face isn’t angry, isn’t disgusted, it’s – it’s understanding? Nick doesn’t get it.

    Pat shifts, sitting up again and pulling a leg under himself. “Nick. Hey. Nick, it’s alright.”

    “I—I can’t, you–” Nick’s breathing is harsh, laboured, and he can’t think, god, he’s just fucked up everything, what if Pat doesn’t want to work with him again, what if—

    “Nick? Nick. Look at me, buddy.” Nick does. “You’re alright, you’re good. It’s fine. Breathe, buddy.” Pat has his hands on Nick’s shoulders, holding eye contact with him. Nick tries to steady his breathing, realises as he calms down that Pat’s breathing with him, helping him break out of the anxious loop he’s in.

    Once he’s back to a regular breathing rate, Pat reaches for the DS that Nick didn’t even realise he was still holding, takes it and switches it off, setting it and his own to the side. They make eye contact again, and Nick clutches Pat’s bicep like it’s a rope and he’s a drowning man, and begs him to stay.

    “Please?”

    Pat nods.

    “Not here, though,” he says, and gets up, offering a hand to Nick. Nick takes it, and Pat leads him down the hall to the room they’re staying in. It’s convenient, Nick thinks, that they have a room together. Pat sits down on his bed, pulls Nick down to sit beside him. “You okay?”

    Nick nods, wanting to break eye contact but forcing himself not to.

    “Pat?”

    “Yeah?” Pat’s voice is unbearably soft now, gentle, as though he might break something, this, whatever this is, by speaking too loud.

    “Can – can I kiss you?” Nick thinks it’s too forward, too direct, but fuck, it’s all he can think about.

    Pat nods, wordlessly, and leans in slightly, enough to encourage Nick to continue, but with enough space so as not to pressure him. Nick appreciates it. He leans in and their noses brush, Pat’s breath warm on his lips. Softly, so softly, he presses their mouths together, a whimper bursting its way out from deep within him. Pat pushes into the kiss, brings his hand up to the long side of Nick’s hair, grabs, only slightly, but even the mere suggestion of a tug has a whine escaping Nick, his mouth opening, deepening the kiss more. Pat takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into Nick’s mouth, only an exploratory brush at first, but then Nick’s own tongue brushes against it and Pat’s restraint is gone, and suddenly they’re caught in a feedback loop – Nick lies backwards, moving his legs up onto the bed and tugging Pat down with him, and now Pat’s sitting on his hips, and Jesus, the friction is amazing and he never wants to stop.

    “Nick, Nick, wait,” Pat pants, pulling out of the kiss for a second. “Are you good? Should we wai-“

    “God, Pat, no, I swear to god if you stop now I’ll piss in your bed.” Pat laughs at this, a genuine laugh of surprised amusement, and nods. Nick grabs Pat’s hips, pulls him down so they’re grinding against each other.

    “Jesus,” Pat shudders, burying his face in Nick’s neck. “How do you want to do this?”

    “I – shiiit – I don’t have any lube,” Nick mumbles, more focused on the delicious friction between them.

    Pat groans, mouthing at Nick’s collar. “Mmm, I do,” he says, lowly. “Hang on.” Pat groans as he gets up and Nick lets out a sigh at the loss of contact, palming himself as he watches Pat rummage in his suitcase, emerging victorious with the lube, before frowning. “I uh, I don’t have condoms though…”

    Nick shrugs. “I’m clean, so…”

    Pat’s shoulders droop in relief. “Me too, thank god. Alright, let’s uh, let’s get this party started.”

    Nick can’t help but let out a giggle at that. “Jesus you’re such a dork,” he laughs, and Pat playfully puts a hand to his mouth.

    “Shut up,” Pat chuckles. Nick makes an incoherent noise, and then sticks his tongue out to lick Pat’s hand. “Dude, ew!” Pat withdraws his hand with a look of mock horror, and sits back. He can’t hold the face long before they both break into snorts of laughter. Nick pulls Pat back down, tugging on his shirtsleeve.

    “I want you to fuck me,” Nick mumbles, and Pat’s breath hitches.

    “Fuck, Nick, you can’t just say that,” he groans, breath on Nick’s ear, making him shiver. He nips at Nick’s jaw, dragging his teeth, and Nick shudders.

    “Please,” Nick whines, grabbing the hand that isn’t fisted in his hair and holding it to his crotch. “Look how hard I am. Jesus, Pat, I’m not gonna last…”

    “Oh fuck.” Pat’s voice breaks slightly, and he pulls back from Nick’s jaw, picking up the lube. “Take off your clothes.”

    Nick doesn’t hesitate, pulling off his t-shirt in such a hurry that he gets stuck and Pat, trying not to laugh and failing miserably, helps him out of it. Nick grins lopsidedly and shucks off his jeans and underwear, flopping back on the bed. Pat watches him for a second, before getting rid of his own clothes.

    Pat opens the bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers, and bends over Nick again. “Try to relax,” he murmurs, pushing his finger in slowly. Nick whines, and clenches around Pat, who uses his dry hand to stroke Nick’s hip, mumbling reassurances while Nick makes desperate noises around his finger. By the time Pat’s worked in a second and third, Nick’s moans are getting louder, and he has to shush him, reminding him that there are, in fact, other people in the house, and that they probably wouldn’t appreciate being woken up by Nick’s moans, no matter how good they sound.

    “Pat,” Nick whimpers, “please just fuck me already.”

    Pat shudders and pulls his fingers out, opening the lube again to slick his dick up. “How do you wanna do this?” he asks, and it takes Nick a moment to formulate a response; he looks fucking amazing like this, face flushed, barely breathing steady, hand on his cock.

    “I wanna ride you,” Nick says, and gets out of the way. “Sit against the headboard.”

    Pat nods and shuffles up the bed, turning and leaning back against the pillows at the top end of the bed. Nick bites his lip, before shuffling up to join him. He hovers over Pat’s dick, takes it in his hand, and slowly lowers himself down onto it, shutting his eyes as Pat’s breath rushes out of him all at once.

    “God, Nick,” Pat whispers. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

    Nick moans at this, surging forwards to kiss Pat urgently, and pulls back to mutter in his ear:

    “Pull my hair. Please.”

    Pat’s clearly holding himself back; his hips keep jolting as though they’re trying to move of their own accord, and he grabs a fistful of Nick’s hair and tugs, lightly, but still enough to draw a whimper out of Nick’s throat. Finally, Nick moves, pulling himself almost completely off of Pat’s dick, before dropping back down again. Pat starts to roll his hips, grinding up into Nick, and they find a rhythm; there are small, desperate noises coming out of Nick, whose face is buried in the juncture between Pat’s shoulder and neck, mouth hanging open and teeth loosely gripping him as Nick’s hands claw at his back like he’s holding on for dear life. Pat’s hand is still in his hair, and the other one is gripping his hip, guiding him.

    “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” Pat groans in Nick’s ear, tearing a cry out of him. “I wish you could see yourself. So good for me.”

    “Please,” Nick begs, desperate. “Fuck, Pat, don’t stop.”

    “C’mon baby, almost there. You’ve no idea how fuckin’ good you feel, god. Are you close?”

    “Yes,” Nick’s voice is cracked, and it’s so obvious that’s he’s at the edge that it drives Pat wild, his thrusts getting harder, more erratic.

    “Fuck, Nick, c’mon, such a good boy for me, just let go.” Pat wraps his hand around Nick’s cock, teases the head with his thumb; it’s almost no time at all before Nick’s moaning into Pat’s neck, his hips stuttering as he spills over Pat’s hand and stomach, tightening around him. Pat thrusts up into him three, four times until he follows Nick over the edge, groaning, breath hot and heavy as he slows to a halt. After a minute, Nick pulls off of Pat’s dick and, wordlessly, leans down and licks a stripe through the pool of cum on Pat’s stomach, maintaining eye contact all the while.

    “Jesus Christ,” Pat groans, covering his eyes with his clean hand and sinking down into a slouch. Nick laughs, and flops down on the bed beside him.

    “In a good way?” Nick jokes, although there’s an underlying spike of worry.

    Pat looks down at him, runs his clean hand through Nick’s hair, and smiles.

    “In a good way.”


End file.
